“After a couple of successful home games, the Archers of Avelon took a road trip to Tombstone City. The hot desert air was uncomfortable and thin. Tumbleweeds blew in front of the stadium and not a single horse could be seen in the run down old town. The Archers attempted to check-in to the hotel above the saloon only to find it full of cobwebs and without so much as a barkeeper to attend them.

Kydeth looked at Kondor. “Why are we here? There is nothing here.”

“You are correct.” He responded. “The town is almost deserted. A Cholera epidemic came through here about 40 years ago and killed almost everyone in town. The only living you will find in town is the sheriff, the stage coach operator, and a couple of cactus farmers. Most of the current residents are up on old Boot Hill outside of town by the arena. That is where the blood bowl team you will play resides.”

“So it is an undead team.” Stated Idhrenfineth. “Why have a sheriff and a stage coach office in a ghost town?”

“Well bandits like grave robbers come through from time to time, and someone has to deliver mail to the dearly departed. Look on the bright side.” Said Kondor as he handed a bottle of amber liquid to Corbis. “The liquor counter is well stocked and we are the only ones here to drink it. Consider it a welcome present from the owner of the Boot Hill Restless Dead. Also, cholera is probably still in the water, and the game is tomorrow so drink the booze but don’t overdo it unless you want to switch teams during the match”

Most of the elves spread out to explore the saloon, drink, or sleep, but Kondor was not surprised to see that Revwe had already walked across the street to stage coach company where she examined the wanted posters nailed to the wall.

The next day at high noon the archers walked to the center of the field. The small arena was filled to capacity. It was eerily silent except for a pack of about thirty ghouls that chanted vulgarities on the other side of the Restless Dead end zone.

Some of the elves chatted amongst themselves but Revwe was conspicuous in her silence. She stood at the proper defensive spot on the field glaring at her opponents one by one. Kondor recognized the look of the prowling predator and did his best to keep himself out of her line of sight.

The whistle blew, Osonia kicked the ball high into the air and the pandemonium that is Blood Bowl began. Revwe screeched “Fill your hands you sons of b…s” and immediately attacked Wild Bill. Taken off guard, he was unprepared to deal with the ferocity of the attack. With Broken bones, the normally heavy handed wight was dragged from the dusty covered pitch.

Nienna scored twice in the half but it was inconsequential. Revwe was the force to be dealt with. Sundance tried to fend off the barbarian elf only have her crush his spine and send him to the bench to regenerate.

Headed for the lockerroom a reporter quoted her as muttering “Our bodies are earth and our thoughts are clay and we sleep and eat with death.”

As the second half ticked on the ghoul Doc Holiday cornered Osonia with a hand held crossbow at his side. “Well, if it ain’t little Osonia Larereta.” He chortled as his fingers tickled the hilt of the bow. “Care to dance?”

Knowing she was no match for Doc she backed away. “I’ve got not score with you.” She tried to reason.

“But maybe I’ve got one with you.” He continued to tease.

The match virtually stopped as Revwe stepped between them smiling in a knowing way. “I’m your Huckleberry.” She taunted.

The color of ghoul’s complexion faded as he saw Revwe’s hand hovering inches from her own crossbow. “Well, yer a daisy if you do.” He began to mutter over and over as the pair began to circle one another in a clockwise direction.

“Skin that smoke wagon Doc.” She stated and then shouted “Go ahead, skin that Smoke Wagon and see what happens.”

In the blink of an eye Doc’s hand twitched and pulled the bow and the trigger. His quarrel planted harmlessly in the dirt. He took a step and dropped the bow. His left hand drifted towards his gurgling throat where his trachea was now perforated by a bolt from Revwe’s bow. Eyes rolling back in his head, he dropped to one knee and then to the desert earth where his blood muddied parched and sun cracked pitch.

Revwe walked to the dead ghoul and tore the tarnished tin star from his tunic and put it in her pocket. The action stopped except in the background the referee at last sounded the final whistle.

Hours later, while the other elves were celebrating the victory, Revwe entered the sheriff’s office where she was surprised to find Kondor. She ignored him and tossed the tin star on the desk. The old balding man picked up and tossed it in a drawer then pointed to a bag of gold on the chair by the door.

Kondor looked at Revwe curiously. She absently picked up the gold bag and moved toward the door. But before leaving she decided to answer his unasked question.

“If God hadn’t meant for them to be sheared, he wouldn’t have made them sheep.”
”